


If I Had You

by piedpiper (fuckofagun)



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Blowjobs, Humiliation, M/M, Sex Toys, Spanking, Under-negotiated Kink, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24209017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckofagun/pseuds/piedpiper
Summary: Pied Piper tells the Flash that he's a bad person and, well, Barry can't stop thinking about it.
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Kudos: 29





	If I Had You

**Author's Note:**

> So, if it's not obvious, I don't know The Flash canon that well, so if details seem off, just go with it.

“You know, you’re kind of a terrible person.” 

“I’m—” Barry reeled back, offended. “Why would you say that? I—I save the city, I help people, I—”

Hartley reached out and clapped a hand over Barry’s lips. He didn’t think it would stay there, actually, not in the face of super speed and the fact that he was only lightly applying pressure, but Barry didn’t move an inch. “Yeah, and you’re also a self-righteous dick who thinks his definition of right and wrong should be everyone’s. Not everything is black and white, Flash. It might do you some good to remember that from time to time.”  
It was almost cute, the way that Barry’s face shifted into that of a scolded puppy, eyebrows drawing in and jaw loosening within his suit. Hartley didn’t have time for cute, though.

“Gotta jet, sorry Flash. People need me too, y’know.” With that, he sauntered off, leaving Barry staring at him with confused, shouting voices coming through his comms. Hartley wasn’t worried. Barry might be cute, but sometimes it took things a while to sink in, and Hartley estimated “a while” to be just about the time it would take him to safely arrive home. Possibly longer, actually. True to prediction, he stepped over the threshold of his basement apartment without a Flash anywhere in sight.

Hartley didn’t expect Barry to forget his words entirely. Half of that kid’s self-esteem was built on being the best, being a hero, and if he had any inkling that that might not be true….well let’s just say that Hartley was not surprised to find Barry in his living room the next day, looking deeply troubled. 

“Considering your own self-worth?” As he said it, Hartley set the three bags of groceries he was carrying down on the kitchen counter. He raised an eyebrow at Barry. “Wanna take care of this for me?”

Without even questioning it, a blur of color briefly appeared in his kitchen, and when it disappeared, Barry was replaced in the living room and all of the groceries were neatly put away. Hartley nodded, considering. “Not bad. Thanks, Flash. Now, what brings you here on such a day? Surely there’s bad guys to nab, or innocent people to throw in prison? I can’t imagine my living room provides that much excitement for a fellow like you.” 

“I—” Barry paused. He examined the floor with the kind of dedication that Harley hadn’t seen since his parents were systematically tossing his belongings through his window. “You said I’m a terrible person. You said I see everything in black and white.” He paused again. Hartley nodded, trying his very, very best not to smirk. “Could you—maybe—teach me how to not be terrible? I mean, I know you’re a villain, and this goes against, uh, everything, but…I can’t stop thinking about what you said and it’s killing me.” 

“Unexpected honesty.” Hartley tilted his head. He didn’t really have the time for a Flash Re-education Program, but it was so, so tempting…

“Sure, alright.” His agreement came with conditions. “If I do this though, you have to make a few agreements. One, I get immunity. My friends— Glider, Heatwave, Cold, everyone— get immunity for a month after this. Two, you will _listen_ to what I say. Even if you don’t like it. I will not be belittled while trying to help you. Alright?” 

“I am not giving your friends immunity.” 

Harley shrugged. “Five minutes to escape whenever you catch up to them?” 

Barry huffed out a breath. “Fine. When do you want to start?” 

There were unlimited possibilities at Hartley’s fingertips, he could hardly choose where to start. However, mentioning Len gave him an idea. 

“Tonight. A friend of mine is holding a party, and you’re going to be my date.” The way that the tips of Barry’s ears colored at that made this whole thing worth it already. 

“Date—I—-I’m—”

“Calm down, not like that. Yet.” He turned before Barry could say anything to that, but he still caught the lack of dawning horror, paired with something like…embarrassment? That was interesting. Hartley would definitely have to look into that later. Now, though, he had his finest leather to don and a Barry to wrangle into something a little more appropriate for the occasion. 

“Wait.” Barry looked at the jacket, pants, and shirt in Hartley’s hands. “I can’t— you’ll know who I am.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes. “Put the clothes on, Barry.” 

“How—”

“Didn’t I tell you? You’re terrible at _everything_.” 

“Are these all…criminals?” Barry’s eyes darted around the darkened room as he spoke, hanging back behind Hartley like a lost puppy. Hartley thought that perhaps he had never felt more powerful than in that moment, with the Flash cowering at his heels. 

“Yep.” He popped the ‘p’. “And you, my dear Flash, are going to attend this charity gala, keep your pretty mouth shut, and not arrest a Single. One. Of. Them.” He shot Barry a meaningful look that he hoped would translate. Just to hammer it in, he added, “My friends have worked very hard on tonight, and my pet project will not ruin it for them. Got it?” 

“Charity?” Barry mouthed, until Harley kicked him in the calf and he yelped, “Yes, got it, okay. No arresting the criminals—is that Captain Cold? I thought he—”

“New rule.” Hartley sent over a glare. “Keep your mouth shut.” 

He thought he heard Barry mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “at least you didn’t call it pretty this time,” but he didn’t press the matter. He led Barry to an empty table and sat them both down. 

“What’s this charity event for? Trust fund for bank robbers?” Barry laughed like he was clever. Hartley sent him another glare. 

“It’s for homeless shelters, actually. Though those guys—” he pointed to a couple of posh CEOs— “think it’s for some Corp down south.”

“And they’re here because…?” 

Hartley smirked. “They invited their rich friends, who invited their rich friends, who will donate thousands by the end of the night. What they don’t donate, we’ll steal.” Perhaps he shouldn’t have picked this so early, but he needed a gauge of how well Barry was planning to stick to this whole “being better” thing. Hartley had this under control if Barry went and royally fucked it up, but that wouldn’t be true for everything. This, relatively, was the biggest test he could throw at Central City’s dearest Flash. If he could make it through this, keep his mouth shut, he might have hope.

Hartley told him as such. “If you can make it back to my place tonight without arresting, or harassing, or saving, anyone, then you’ve passed my first test.” 

Barry squeaked. “Your place? Why—I—” 

“Relax,” Hartley said with a snort. “The sex dungeon is lesson three. I have to keep my eye on you, make sure you’re not going behind my back. Speaking of that—” He pulled a metal collar with green accents out of his pocket. “If you leave, you will wear this. Dampens your powers, makes it so you can’t leave or go against your word. We’re on a trust basis. You break my trust once, I can’t trust you again.” He placed the collar back in his pocket. 

If possible, Barry looked even more shocked. “Sex…dungeon…?” he managed, face redder then his Flash suit. 

Leaning back in his chair, Hartley took a sip of the water that came with the table. “I don’t ask what you do in your private life.”

From Barry’s expression, he guessed that Barry’s private life didn’t have much to do with sex dungeons.

“Tell my friend Barry about the cause we’re raising money for tonight.” Harley’s voice was smooth as butter in the air, and Len seized the opportunity to drape an arm over Barry’s shoulder and start purring about “homeless shelters” and “giving back to the community.”

“After all, that menace the Flash isn’t the only one who can do good things, right?” Len’s lip curled on the word “good.” Hartley left Barry in Len’s capable hands. 

Everyone—except for the CEOs— escaped the charity gala unscathed, a win in Hartley’s book. He had Barry run them home— he’d decided that Barry’s use of his powers was okay if Hartley asked him to use them— and set Barry up in his guest room. He also enabled an alarm detection system that would alert him if Barry left the room. You know, just in case. 

“This is kind of like a cult,” Barry mused, as Hartley prepared them for the day. “A cult of Hartley.”

“Hardly.” Hartley tossed Barry his jacket. “If it were a cult, the sex dungeon would have been lesson one.” 

“Do you really have—”

Hartley cut off Barry’s concern. “Lesson two. We’re going on a heist.” 

“A—”

Hartley was actually quite proud of himself for this one. If the charity gala had been hard for Barry to deal with, a heist was the only logical next step. “A heist. Cold and Heatwave’s idea— some bank, I don’t know—but we figured there’s no harm in having a speedster on our side. Unless, of course, that speedster is going to betray us.”

His voice went hard, and Barry inched backward. “Of course not!” He babbled, looking everywhere but at Hartley. “I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t betray you. I won’t. I swear.”

Hartley sniffed. “We’ll see. Here, put this on.” He tossed Barry black jeans and a black coat, and if the jeans were a size or two smaller than he estimated Barry to wear, who could blame him?

“Stay close,” he murmured, once Barry ran them to the bank. Cold and Heatwave were already inside— by then, Cold should have knocked out—or killed, he wasn’t picky— the guards, and Heatwave should be gathering money. Hartley was mostly backup, but he didn’t tell Barry that. Instead, he led them to where the cameras were and disabled them with his gauntlets, Barry looking more tense by the second. “Watch the guards.” Hartley pointed to a hallway, where Cold was supposed to have stashed them, and Barry was gone in a second. 

Which is why, when a second later Hartley ended up stashed in a dark closet, Barry pressed up next to him, he didn’t quite remember what part of the plan that was supposed to be. 

“What the _fuck_?” he hissed, yanking at the door to no avail. He could hear the lock rattling, clearly locked, and while he could probably blast it open with his gauntlets, he kind of wanted a fucking explanation for this. “You said you weren’t going to betray us. What, exactly, do you call this?” 

“I—” for a moment, Barry looked lost. “Just—how can you—you Rogues think this is okay? The bank—”

“I do not,” Hartley punctuated each word with a hand that gripped tighter and tighter to Barry’s shoulder, “give a _fuck_ about the bank.” He had more to say, truly, but Barry’s heaving chest just inches away, and the way that he almost looked _scared_ — which he _should_ , Hartley thought, feeling a bit self-righteous—was distracting. His focus couldn’t quite concentrate on whatever lecture he had planned, but Barry’s lips were so close, and they’d be _so good_ around his dick and—

“Hartley?” Barry’s voice sounded rough and low in the darkness of the closet, and something in Hartley’s brain reminded him that the more time they spent in here, the longer Cold and Heatwave would have to get the fuck out without Barry nabbing them. He leaned in a little closer, for the good of the heist, of course. 

“Fuck,” he repeated, not quite knowing what he was referring to. “You can’t do this, Barry. You wonder why everyone who isn’t part of your precious gang of miscreants hates you. It’s because you can be a real backstabbing bitch sometimes.” 

Instead of gripping Barry, Hartley had taken to leaning in closer, just a little, just enough so that he could almost taste Barry’s panted breath. Barry swallowed, the sound loud in such a small space. 

“Yeah. Um, what are you doing? Not that I—I mean—” 

Hartley decided several things in that moment. He decided _fuck it_ , he decided _for the good of the heist_ , he decided _he wouldn’t kill me_. He closed the few inches of dead air still separating them and pressed his lips to Barry’s.

He waited for the telltale sensation of wind and then the harsh concrete of a cell floor. It never came, instead, Barry kissed back—hesitantly, like he didn’t quite know how to do this, maybe not with a man, if Hartley had to guess, never with a man— and Hartley nipped his bottom lip, just to test. 

Barry moaned, his whole body vibrating. Hartley broke the kiss in something like amusement.

“My, my, Flash. Like it a little rough?” 

“I—” Barry’s red, kissed lips scrambled to find an answer. “I mean—”

Hartley flipped on his comm. He hadn’t bothered to mention them to Barry, but they were connected to comms that Len and Mick also had. 

“You guys out?” 

“Got a hot date?” Len’s monotone crackled through the speaker, but he didn’t sound particularly upset. 

Hartley winked at Barry, sending a red hot blush down his neck, across his cheeks. “Maybe a hot fuck. You out or not?” 

“We’re out.” Mick, straight to the point. Hartley nodded to no one. 

“Mission accomplished, then. I’m off, meet you two tomorrow to discuss cuts?” 

Some mumbled assurances came through the comms, and Hartley shut them off, satisfied. “Guess you won’t get to drag the evil criminals to jail today after all. Though…would you mind dragging us back to my house? It’s quite a bit of a hike.” 

Barry didn’t even say anything, just nodded, and a few moments later Hartley looked around to see a familiar bedroom. His bedroom. “Forward, Flash,” he said, but he was grinning. “What are you thinking? As much as I know what _I’m_ thinking, I wouldn’t be much good at convincing you to be a better person if I pushed you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“I—” Barry’s words caught in his throat, and Hartley was trying very, very hard not to notice the bulge in his too-tight jeans. 

“Okay.” Hartley sat down on the bed, and motioned for Barry to sit next to him. “What have you done? Likes, dislikes?”

“Are we,” Barry swallowed, “Really doing…this? Uh, sex? Because I’m— I mean, with Iris, and Patty, but not…not guys. Not, uh, ever.” 

“Okayyy,” Hartley drew out the word, refraining from rolling his eyes. “Do you like getting your dick sucked?” 

Barry honest-to-god squeaked at that, the tips of his ears staining red. “I—I mean—yes? Is that—” He looked down at his crotch, almost guiltily, and Hartley took that as an invasion to slide off of the bed and sink to his knees in front of Barry. With a few simple motions, he unbuttoned Barry’s jeans, unzipped them, and yanked them down as far as possible. “It’s on offer,” he clarified. “Mind if I…?” 

“Yeah, go—go ahead.” 

In one motion Hartley had Barry’s underwear pressed down his legs to his jeans, and his hand leisurely stroking Barry’s dick. After a few strokes, he arched his neck and took it in his mouth, a familiar practice that he was very, very good at. He’d long since suppressed his gag reflex enough to deepthroat, and from the sound of things, Barry appreciated that very much. Hands tangled their way into Hartley’s hair, and he leaned into them, appreciating the touch, but also the tug, the way that it seemed like Barry couldn’t control how hard he pulled. Barry was falling apart in his hands, in his mouth, and Hartley had never felt more accomplished than in that moment. The _Flash_ , vulnerable, pliant, for _him_. It was a power rush unlike any other. He closed his throat around Barry’s dick, sucked it down, and it wasn’t two minutes before Barry tugged urgently on his hair, moaned, and came, looking more than surprised when Hartley swallowed. He drew back his head and wiped his lips, a new idea springing into his mind. 

“Hey,” he hazarded, “Ever smoke pot? I think it could do you some good. Make you less…uptight.” 

“I can’t get drunk,” Barry said, sounding dazed. “My powers…you know. I don’t think I could get high either.” 

“Luckily,” Hartley rummaged around in his pocket and returned with the collar he’d presented earlier, “I have a solution to that problem.”

It shouldn’t have felt as intimate as it did when Hartley slipped the collar around Barry’s neck, but the air was tense and Hartley could hardly breathe until he snapped it shut. “There,” he said, too breathy, too high, and he focused on crossing the room and rummaging through his closet for a joint instead of thinking about that. 

When he returned, Hartley set a small bowl next to them on the bed, and then dug a lighter out of his pant’s pocket. He lit the joint, taking a few long hits, reveling in the smoke floating up in the room, surrounding them. 

Hartley passed the joint to Barry, only slightly thinking about laughing when Barry took it like it might light him on fire. 

“Uh,” Barry managed, staring at the joint. Remembering his early teens, and his first joint, Hartley reached out and held it up against Barry’s lips. “Suck in,” he said, and Barry did, perhaps a bit too much, because he nearly knocked the joint onto the floor with the force of his coughing. 

“Careful.” Hartley took it back, brought it to his own lips, and took a leisurely hit, a little bit to show off and a little bit because _fuck_ , it had been a weird day. The smoke coexisted with his lungs just fine, experience and years and years of weed and anything else he could get his hands on to dull down his system to the effects. Barry, though…he couldn’t wait to see what it would do to Barry. That could be interesting. 

“You know,” he said, once he exhaled, “Weed tends to make people horny. I can’t say I disagree.”

As soon as the idea was planted, Hartley knew that Barry would recognize the feeling in his own body, the craving for touch, for sensation, for anything and everything to feel good. 

“Yeah?” Barry sounded breathless, but not upset, not adverse to the idea. “I could—yeah, that sounds, uh, doable.” 

Hartley laughed at that, really laughed, and held it back to Barry’s mouth, waited for him to suck on it. He didn’t cough as much that time, but it still sounded like he might lose a lung or two. Hartley let him take a few, smaller hits, before he himself took another hit, before ashing the joint and setting it aside. He let the moment simmer, just for a second, before pushing Barry back onto the bed, perhaps a bit harder than necessary, and capturing his lips with his own. 

“Iris ever give you a safe word?” Hartley asked, when he came up for air. Barry shook his head no, eyes wide. 

“Okay,” Hartley practically purred it. “If you want to stop, say Flash. You don’t say Flash, I don’t stop, okay?” 

Barry nodded, and Hartley paused, his lips flashing up into a smirk at Barry’s whine. “Say yes, or I stop.” 

“Yes, yeah, okay,” Barry gasped out, twitching, eyes bloodshot and wide. Hartley reached over the side of the bed and returned with a pair of cold metal handcuffs that he clasped over Barry’s wrists and then looped around the hook right above his bed, the one he installed specifically for that purpose. 

“Now,” Hartley pitched his voice as low as possible, trying to stay in control of his body, his reactions, as much as his dick pulsed against his jeans and his skin buzzed, hot to the touch. “Be a good boy and do as I say.” He hadn’t Dommed anyone in ages— last time that hook was used, it was his hands in the cuffs— and rationally, he knew that he was making many, many bad decisions. Cardinal sins of kink. Should have talked it through, shouldn’t be high, shouldn’t be playing with Barry’s lack of experience. 

The thing, though. The thing was that Hartley didn’t particularly care about any of those things, because the weed was flushing his system with intensity of feeling, and Barry was there, under him, flushed and shaking, ready to do whatever Hartley could come up with. 

Instead of stopping, Hartley nipped at Barry’s nipples, delighting in the quiet whines that floated out of Barry’s mouth with each bite. He bit them until they hardened and turned an angry red, and then he pulled away to stare at Barry’s face, to stare at his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 

“You’re being a very good boy,” Hartley purred out, voice dropping. He pulled open his bedside drawer to reveal several implements that he wouldn’t be using, along with a medium sized smooth pink vibrator. After plucking the vibrator out of the drawer, he switched it on and watched Barry’s eyes widen and his lips drop open a few centimeters. He dug around in the drawer for a short piece of soft rope, and maneuvered around back to Barry so that he could line the toy up against his cock and tie it so that it wouldn’t move out of place. Barry shook at that, sweat glimmering on his stomach, on his thighs. 

“Now,” Hartley switched the vibrator up a notch, “Don’t cum until I tell you to. If you do…” he shrugged, the smirk never fading. Logically, he knew Barry couldn’t do it. He was already painfully hard, and every time Hartley touched him he squeaked and his dick jumped. Realistically, he had maybe a minute, most likely less. That didn’t keep Hartley from frowning and shaking his head when Barry teared up and shook his head, eyes begging for Hartley to help him. 

“Please turn it off. I can’t—I’m gonna— turn it off, please, I—” Hartley sat there, watching, as Barry lost control and came, the tears welling up and tracking down his cheeks as he did. The sight sent a wave of pleasure through Hartley’s own body, but he ignored it, for Barry had just opened a whole new Pandora’s box. 

“Barry, what did I _just_ tell you?” He masked his voice with faux anger, and Barry shrank his body into the bed, now just looking scared as the pleasure had faded. The collar truly put him at Hartley’s mercy, and both of them were hyper-aware of that fact. “You know what happens to bad boys who don’t follow instructions?” He waited a beat, waited for Barry to frantically shake his head. “They get punished.” He reached forward and switched off the vibrator, untied it, and set it aside. He found the key and took off the handcuffs, leaving Barry free to be rolled over on his stomach, over Hartley’s knee. 

“Please,” Barry begged, and Hartley didn’t even know what he was begging for. He didn’t listen, regardless. “Please” and “Flash” were two separate words, and would be treated as such. 

“Count them out.” A tangible shiver ran through Barry’s body, and he nodded into the bed, tears hidden by the face his face was pressed into the sheets. Hartley brought down his hand on Barry’s ass, not hard, just testing to see how he would react. He would have assumed that Barry’s pain tolerance was fairly high, considering how often he got hurt, but it didn’t seem to translate to the bedroom, because Barry jerked and choked out a gasp. 

“Count,” Hartley reminded him, and, belatedly, Barry murmured “One.” 

“Good boy.” He hit him again, harder this time, enough to leave a mark, though it would fade quickly. Barry didn’t delay, and gasped out “Two” in time for Hartley to hit in a quick succession of “Three,” “Four,” and “Five,” enough to leave Barry whimpering and red. Hartley knew he was hard against Barry’s stomach, but he ignored it, because Barry’s dick was digging into his thigh, and he kept rubbing against it, almost like he didn’t realize he was doing it. 

“Such a little bitch,” Hartley said, just to feel Barry jerk. “Getting off on this, aren’t you? I knew you would, you’re a bit of a slut, aren’t you?” His hand landed on Barrys ass for six, seven, eight, nine, and by then, Barry could hardly breathe to get the words out. 

“Do you need to cum?” He said it in the most condescending tone he could manage, and Barry squeaked out “Yes.” 

Hartley removed his hand, removed all touch except for his legs, which Barry was laying across.

“Hump my leg, then. If you want to cum, that’s how you have to.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

Hartley raised an eyebrow, even though Barry couldn’t see. “Do you want to cum? Yes? Then rub off on my leg like the little slut you are.”

That was enough to spur Barry into motion, to cause him to move his hips enough to gain friction against Hartley’s leg. Little sounds, like choked off tears, came from where his face was hidden in the bed, and it wasn’t long before he shuddered and came yet again. Perhaps some of his powers snuck through the collar, or his body was just wired to be able to keep going. 

As soon as Barry came, Hartley shoved him off of his lap. “Suck me off,” he ordered, undoing his pants and kicking them off, along with his underwear. Barry, breathing hard and face covered in dried tear tracks, slid off of the bed and onto the floor so that he could line up his lips with Hartley’s cock and take it into his mouth. He wasn’t particularly good at it, but he was a warm mouth, and he looked so vulnerable, so humiliated, that Hartley had to work not to cum immediately. He focused his mind on all the bad things Barry had done—not “bad” things, like coming without permission, but bad things, like throwing him in Star Labs or arresting his friends or being a generally uptight asshole— but even then, it was only a couple of minutes before he tapped on Barry’s head, gave him time to pull away, before he came down his throat.

Barry didn’t pull away until Hartley was done, and when he did, his lips were smeared with sticky white cum and he looked so, so debauched. Hartley dragged Barry back up on the bed and then laid down, panting. 

Sweat trickled down Hartley’s forehead, his body loose, pliant, relaxed. Barry lay beside him, looking thoroughly fucked-out, hands resting on his bare chest and face tilted toward Hartley.

“Wow,” he managed, out-of-breath, but nearly glowing. “Is that always how you do that?”

“What?” Hartley raised an eyebrow, also out of breath, but attempting to maintain an edge of control. “Have kinky sex? Mostly. I’m normally in your place though.” He thought for a second, then amended, “Don’t you dare tell anyone that.”

A chuckle rose from Barry’s tired throat. “I won’t. Uh, don’t tell anyone about…this.” 

“Don’t worry, no one who worships the ground you walk on will ever hear about this. Len though…” he grinned, and watched Barry’s face color as he broke into an embarrassed smile. “C’mon, I gotta have some bragging rights over this. I fucked the Flash, how many people can say that?” 

Barry’s eyebrows bunched up, and he considered. “Three. Well, four now.” 

“I’m honored.” 

Silence fell over the room while they both caught their breath, until Barry said, “Do you still think I’m a bad person? I— I don’t want to be, and Wells, Caitlyn, Cisco, they don’t think I’m a bad person. But…does everyone else?” 

It almost felt wrong to answer while Barry looked so earnest. “I don’t know about civilians. But pretty much everyone you’ve ever arrested, or harassed, doesn’t think you’re a great person.”  
Barry turned his face up. “What about you?”

“What do I think?”

Barry nodded.

Hartley hesitated. “I don’t think you’re bad, but I think…I think you do cruel things to people you don’t deem worthy of decent treatment. But…you survived this weekend with me. The heist, the weed, the sex, you did all that without freaking out or—fully—betraying me. So I think you can learn and grow, y’know?” It felt too honest, but also like a fair assessment, and Barry didn’t recoil in anger. He just lay there, face scrunched up in thought. 

“Huh. Okay. I need—I think this weekend will help me. With the team, and with how I treat crimi—uh, I mean, the Rogues and otherwise.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” Hartley said, surprising himself by saying it out loud instead of simply thinking it. “Hey, if you want to do this again, I’m sure you know where to find me.”   
Barry nodded into his shoulder, skin warm and motion loose and relaxed. “Yeah. I will. This was…this was great. Thank you, Hartley.”

Neither of them brought up Barry leaving, and he didn’t, just stayed there laying beside Hartley. Hartley let himself, just for a moment, imagine a reality where he could sit up against the headboard, talking to Len, or Mick, or Lisa, or whoever else, plotting some scheme, or event, or whatever, with Barry’s head in his lap, breathing softly against Hartley’s thigh. Barry might still be the Flash in that universe, Hartley wasn’t sure, but he knew they wouldn’t fight over it. Barry wouldn’t wear his suit in Hartley’s house, and when he was in Hartley’s bed, he would just be Barry.

Secretly, Hartley didn’t think a universe like that would be so bad. 


End file.
